


Just You and Me

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles Stilinski, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Temporary Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Stiles is less than amused. College was supposed to be a mix of frantic studying, taking 8:00 a.m. classes and regretting it, and driving back to Beacon Hills every other weekend to see his dad and Peter. He was supposed to be pulling all-nighters fueled on candy and energy drinks, making new friends, and flying through his prerequisites as fast as humanly possible. He'd planned for that, he'd been ready.He hadn't been ready for Peter to dump him.ORFrom TFLN, "FYI telling a guy you're glad his dick isn't big after giving him a bj is NOT a compliment"





	Just You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I made a sad. But it ends happy?

Stiles is less than amused. College was supposed to be a mix of frantic studying, taking 8:00 a.m. classes and regretting it, and driving back to Beacon Hills every other weekend to see his dad and Peter. He was supposed to be pulling all-nighters fueled on candy and energy drinks, making new friends, and flying through his prerequisites as fast as humanly possible. He'd planned for that, he'd been ready. 

He hadn't been ready for Peter to dump him.

Stiles had sat, stunned, while Peter explained how it's in his best interest, that he needs to spend time with students his own age and focus on his schoolwork, not driving back to see his older boyfriend. Of all the people to try to do something misguided out of _selflessness_ , Peter is the last Stiles would expect. Stiles had bluntly said as much, but Peter had just shrugged. Stiles had said he's driving back anyway to see his dad, but Peter had been firm. He'd said, "We'll see where we are when you graduate. I'm not waiting, and neither should you, but if we're in similar places - "

Stiles hadn't waited for him to finish. He'd flipped him off, called him an asshole, and slammed the lid of his laptop shut, cutting off the Skype call. Which is how Stiles got to where he is now, three months post-breakup, drinking his pain away at a shitty frat party. His father would be so proud.

Stiles doesn't even remember the name of the guy he's blowing. Colin? Curtis? Something like that. His moans are just a little too high, the hands in Stiles' hair a little too small, too gentle. The cock in his mouth isn't thick enough, doesn't make him work to take it all. He doesn't last long enough, doesn't have the stamina Stiles is used to. That's good though, he supposes. He's trying to forget Peter, 

Frat Guy finishes quickly, thrusting as deep as he can into Stiles' throat as he comes. Stiles doesn't mean to say it, it's supposed to be an errant thought, but as soon as Frat Guy pulls away and Stiles is able to take a gasping breath, he says, "That was easy, I'm glad you don't have a big dick."

Stiles groans as soon as the words leave his mouth. Frat Guy (Cameron?) looks affronted, opens his mouth probably to argue, but the door to the bathroom rattles, someone outside pounding and shouting that they need to take a piss. Because that's where Stiles is in life, blowing a frat guy he doesn't know the name of in the bathroom of the frat house. Awesome.

Frat Guy gives him one last glare and yanks the door open, storming out. Stiles can vaguely hear laughing outside, someone saying they've never seen someone look so pissed after a blow job. Great.

Stiles, king of good decisions, decides he'd rather not face the music. The bathroom is on the ground floor and it takes almost no effort to push the screen out of the window. A few seconds later, Stiles is hopping out and crossing the lawn, kicking discarded cups and trash out of his way. He's not hammered, but he's definitely too drunk to drive. Irritated, sad, and embarrassed, he starts the half hour walk back to his shitty little apartment and shitty little roommate.

Fucking Peter. Fucking Peter and his goddamn superiority complex and his condescending attitude and his big, memorable dick. Stiles yanks out his phone, nearly tripping on the curb as he does. The thing is, Stiles knows this is a bad idea. He's seen the shitty rom-coms and read the fanfiction. He knows that drunk texting your ex is a bad plan, but he's doing it anyway.

_To: Peter Hale  
FYI telling a guy you're glad his dick isn't big after giving him a bj is NOT a compliment. In case you were curious._

Stiles knows Peter and knows he won't be able to ignore him. Peter doesn't know the meaning of ignoring something that bothers him. He has to poke and push, and Stiles is counting on that. There's a niggling voice at the back of his head that's saying maybe Peter doesn't care. He left Stiles, why would he care what he does other than just possessiveness? And while yeah that sometimes got Stiles going, that's not all that he wants to be to Peter.

As predicted, within five minutes, his phone rings, Peter's name flashing on the caller ID.

"Yoooo," Stiles says into the phone the way he knows Peter hates.

_"How drunk are you?"_ is the first thing Peter says, which, rude.

"Well hello to you, too," Stiles says. "I'm doing great, you?"

_"Fabulous. How drunk are you?"_

"Why do I have to be drunk?"

_"That's the only way you'd be idiotic enough to text me something like that,"_ Peter says.

Anger wells up in Stiles. He's seen the Peter Hale condescension in action, but it's never been aimed at him, not like this. Yeah, he hates it.

"Well excuse the shit out of me. You said let's be _friends_ , so that's what I'm doing. I text my friends about my life," Stiles says.

_"Friends don't text things like that,"_ Peter says. _"You asking for proofreading on your paper counts, not this."_

"Your friendships sound boring as fuck then," Stiles says.

_"Look, I'm a busy man, Stiles. I have better things to do than listen to you talk about your slutty college years,"_ Peter snaps. This isn't the banter he's used to. This isn't the fun back and forth Peter and he usually have.

Stiles sighs, suddenly exhausted. "Whatever. You don't care, man. I'm just another in a long line of people not good enough for the great Peter Hale."

_"Stiles - "_

Stiles hangs up. He doesn't know what he had hoped to accomplish, but all talking to Peter has done is make him feel worse. Perfect, a great way to cap off his shitty night. 

Stiles stumbles through his front door fifteen minutes later, his roommate Will grunting in hello from his spot on the couch. Stiles just waves in his general direction as he passes. He takes the time to brush his teeth since he just had a frat dick in his mouth, before stripping and flopping into bed. Fuck frat guys, fuck Peter Hale. Fuck college. At least he's too exhausted to cry before he passes out.

The sun in shining in through his window when Stiles wakes up the next morning, high enough in the sky to tell him it's at least noon. He groans and buries his face in his pillow. His head in pounding, he's a bit dizzy, and his stomach isn't feeling the greatest. There's a brief moment when he thinks he should be ashamed or embarrassed about something before the night before comes rushing back. 

"Awesome," Stiles says into his pillow. "Just fucking awesome."

"Talking to yourself in a sign of insanity, you know."

Stiles jerks up at the voice, narrowing his eyes to see Peter leaning back in his desk chair. Peter looks calm as can be, like he did the last time he came to visit, lounging like he belongs here. Stiles presses his face back into the pillow. Fantastic. 

"I never thought I'd say this, but please be a hallucination," he says, voice muffled. Peter's stupid werewolf hearing picks it up.

"No such luck."

"Fever dream?"

"No."

"Hangover-induced nightmare?"

"I'm afraid not."

"God. I'm not dealing with you until I've had at least a pot of coffee," Stiles says. He sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pain in his head pounds against his temple. Peter leans forward and hands over a travel cup that Stiles hadn't even noticed him holding. 

"Thanks," Stiles grumbles, not thrilled to be thanking Peter for anything. He didn't even have the decency to get his coffee order wrong, the asshole. He takes a long drink, closing his eyes. Blessed caffeine, even if it did come from the devil himself.

"I haven't seen you drink this much," Peter says.

"You haven't seen me period in months," Stiles snaps. "Why are you even here?"

"Bill let me in," Peter says, which doesn't answer Stiles' question.

"Will. Will and I need to have a talk about security measures," Stiles says.

"Agreed. Though honestly, do you expect he'd have been able to keep me out?" Peter says, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Well, he's not wrong.

"What are you doing here, Peter?" Stiles says. He's tired, he's hungover, he's irritated, and most of all, he's just emotionally done. He doesn't have it in him to have the asshole that he was stupid enough to fall in love with show up at his apartment hours away from Beacon Hills. 

"You weren't answering your phone," Peter says.

"I put it on silent when I went to bed," Stiles says. He glances at where his phone is resting on the nightstand and sure enough, the little light in the corner is blinking to let him know he has missed calls. 

"I assumed as much, but I needed to be sure," Peter says.

"Be sure what? That I didn't die of alcohol poisoning? Pretty sure that isn't your business anymore."

"It's not my business if you die? It's not my _business_?" Peter asks, voice rising. His eyes are narrowed like they do when he's gearing up for a fight. A week ago, hell, even yesterday, Stiles would have been ready for it. He would be puffing up and steeling himself for the barbs that are to come, but he doesn't have it in him anymore. "You think I wouldn't care if you drank yourself to death because of me?"

Stiles shakes his head, sighing. Fucking Peter. The one time he takes on guilt.

"Look, last night was an anomaly, not the norm. Most days are school, work, homework, sleep," Stiles says. "There, your minuscule conscience is assuaged, you can go now."

Peter's confident veneer falters. Good. He wants a knock-down, drag-out fight, and Stiles just isn't here for it. He can't do their banter like he used to. He can't throw abuse at Peter because fuck dude, it just hurts too much.

"I wanted to see you," Peter says quietly. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm done, Peter. My emotional gauge can't take your yo-yo-ing. I don't have the emotional capacity for this, I'm running on empty," Stiles says. "I gave you what I had, and you left. I have nothing else for you, so what the fuck do you want with me?"

"I didn't break up with you because I stopped loving you," Peter says, his voice still soft, and oh, there's a lance right through Stiles' heart. "I did it for you own - "

"If you say it's for my own good, I'm going to throw my chemistry book at you," Stiles says. All the anger he's been trying to ignore surges up, pushing aside his apathy. "That's some creepy Edward Cullen bullshit. You don't get to make my decisions for me. _I_ get to decide what's best for me. If you want to dump me because you don't want to be with me, fine. But you don't get to make choices on my behalf. So fuck you very much."

Peter doesn't have the decency to look ashamed, because honestly when is Peter ever ashamed of anything? He does look sad though, maybe even regretful. Good.

"I'm sorry," Peter says, and that does freeze Stiles for a second. He can count the number of times he's heard Peter apologize (without being sarcastic) on one hand. Stiles doesn't say anything. "I shouldn't have snapped at you last night," Peter continues. "I shouldn't have left you in the first place." 

"Yeah," Stiles says, voice rough. There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes that he doesn't want Peter to see. "Yeah, you shouldn't have."

Peter stands quickly, striding across Stiles' small bedroom to where Stiles is sitting on the edge of his bed. Stiles is in just a t-shirt and boxers, his hair ridiculous from sleep, probably with pillowcase lines on his face, but Peter doesn't look like he's seeing any of that. He drops to his knees at Stiles' feet, hand reaching up like he wants to touch before thinking better of it and letting it drop to his side.

"I miss you," Peter says softly. His face is open in a way it rarely is, unguarded and pained. "I miss your scent on my sheets, your shoes at the door, random texts about squid mating habits. I even miss how you squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle like an animal."

Those goddamn tears are falling and nothing Stiles can do will stop them. Peter reaches up again, gently resting his hand on Stiles' knee. Stiles tangles his fingers with Peter's, squeezing tightly.

"I only did that because you hated it," Stiles says, his voice thick with tears. 

Peter snorts fondly, and god, Stiles missed that. How can you miss someone's snort? Love is fucking ridiculous.

"Of course you did," Peter says. He strokes his thumb over the back of Stiles' hand. "Let me back in your life. Let's try this again. We're made for each other, you and I."

Stiles closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. This better not be that fever dream.

"I'm not doing this again, Peter," Stiles warns. He's proud of how solid his voice comes out when he feels like he's close to shaking apart. "I'm not going to do the on and off couple crap that Scott and Allison do. If you break up with me again, it's for good."

"I know," Peter says quickly. "This is it for me, sweetheart. Just you and me."

Stiles knows he's going to say yes, knows he's wanted nothing more than to have back what they had. But he needs to be absolutely clear.

"I need more from you," Stiles says. "You can't just tell me how much you care when you fuck up like this."

Peter's already nodding before Stiles is even done talking. "You'll never have reason to doubt again, love," Peter says. "I'll be better."

"I don't need you to suddenly become full of sunshine and rainbows," Stiles says. "That's not who you are, and I _like_ who you are. I just...I need to know you love me."

"I do," Peter says earnestly, looking up at Stiles with wide eyes. "More than anything."

Stiles shudders, blinking through the tears, and reaches down, pulling Peter up. Stiles kisses Peter hard, pouring in all the need and desperation he's felt for the last few months. Peter does the same, fingers tangling in Stiles' hair, his other arm wrapped around his back, pulling Stiles tight to him. God, Stiles has missed this. He's missed being held by Peter, knowing he's completely safe in his arms. He's missed being kissed like this, with passion and heat and need that he's missed with the college kids he's used to try to forget Peter. 

"Just you and me," Peter murmurs against Stiles' lips, hand tightening in his hair. "Just you and me, love."

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
